Last August at a family picnic, I first heard of my youngest brother's kidney problems. Robert had high blood pressure which was slowly taking its toll. He explained that someday he would need dialysis or a transplant. It seemed to be something in the distant future and I filed it back in the far recesses of my mind, until this January when he had to start dialysis treatments. The worst for him had happened. The reality of a bleak future hooked to a machine to survive had arrived. He now had the insight few of us will ever come to know--to make the most out of time given and not take a moment for granted.
When he asked me if I would be willing to donate a kidney, I said "yes." My answer was based solely on EMOTION because I knew if the roles were reversed, he would do the same for me.
I had no concept of what I had just volunteered for (kind of like saying you will swim a channel without asking how far to the other side.) My sister and I were the only two siblings tested, as my other three brothers were ruled out for various reasons. She and I waited anxiously to see which one would provide the better match. Out of six antigens, I had three, and she had only one. I think she was actually disappointed that it would not be her. She had in fact dreamed it was her. It actually was for the best as she lives in another state, has four children, a job, and is 7 years my senior.
More tests, consisting of blood work, X-rays, EKG, complete physical and talking with a bevy of doctors, social workers, a transplant coordinator and nurse were done to make sure I was physically and mentally able to donate a kidney.
I think it was at this time that I realized the magnitude of what I had promised. I had discovered that it is much harder on the donor after actually speaking with a woman that, two years prior, had donated a kidney to her daughter. How fortunate for me that both had been in the examing room next to mine. I was shown the scar (which went halfway around her body) and asked questions about their surgery. Broken ribs were part of her operation. The doctor assured me that they don't break the ribs now but simply remove them (the floating ribs) ! Broken or missing ribs? a mammouth scar? morphine? What was I thinking when I offered to do this? This was sounding worse by the moment. But, it didn't matter because I spoke with the woman's 17 year old daughter. That teenager did not fully comprehend the scope of what her mother had done for her, but I did! I knew then, I could do it for my brother, too! I hugged them both and thanked them for opening my eyes.
I knew I had to know more. I found Steve Blakeman off the internet and sought solace from him. The more I knew, the less I would fear. Steve was kind enough to answer all my questions and concerns. To him, I am eternally grateful! After all, Steve had been down this road and who better to guide me? He knew there was not a lot of information out there for us donors and it is totally different for the donor than the recipient. If not for him, I would not be writing this story. I want to be an advocate for others considering donating one of their kidneys. I was glad to be the one on the giving end of the spectrum, not the one needing the kidney.
The last test was a CT scan, done about a week before the now scheduled surgery date of March 12 th. I had to lie on a table while they concentrated the scanner on my abdomen. At one point they injected dye into the bloodstream which made me feel warm all over. I held my breath as they took more scans, and the whole procedure took approximately one hour.
The worst part of course is Fear, --fear of the unknown. Anxiety is fear's closest friend. I could think of nothing else. My questions spanned a wide range about pain, surgery, scarring, nausea, insurance coverage, what I would feel like minus an organ, complications and even my demise. I was going through a very complex psychological process, knowing I would soon be losing a kidney and my own renal reserves along with it. An organ that had resided in my body for 43 years. Still, despite the gauntlet of emotions, I knew I was doing the RIGHT thing. I had to give my brother a chance regardless of the outcome to either of us.
When I awoke in recovery, I felt no pain. I do know I asked about my brother and got a reply, although I can't remember what they told me. It is a weird sensation to be in a vague, twilight state and to unable to fully comphrend what was going on around me. I do recall being moved to my room (a private room which I highly recommend) and not being able to move my legs to help them place me in my bed. What followed was not pleasant, --dry heaves while laying flat on one's back never is. I asked my husband about Robert and was told he was doing just fine. I dozed off and on, and managed to eat a few ice chips. Pain was still not real evident.
While in the hospital, my brother also gave me a gift. It was a beautiful music box with an angel on the front. When opened it plays " The Wind Beneath My Wings." The words go lke this: "Did you every know that you are my hero?...You're everything that I'd like to be. I can fly higher than an eagle, 'cause you are the wind beneath my wings." I can't play that music box without choking up. No, I am not his hero. I did nothing for him that given the reversed circumstances he would not have done for me. I believe that when all is said and done in this life, it is not the selfish things we do for ourselves, but what we do for others that really matters. I did an ordinary thing that made an extraordinary difference to my brother who is doing fantastic!!
I am just the wind beneath his wings!